The Devil of Harmony
by Sir Jack
Summary: Set in the future, 30 years after the initial infection started. Clovis Videl, 24, is a lone survivor in the town of Burlington, Vermont. When he learns that America is now separated, he, along with strong partners, struggle to lead the North East. R&R.
1. Burlington Death Factory

Please Read And Review. Can't tell you how important it is that you do. Thank you, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter. [If you are an avid reviewer, you may request to include yourself or your own character in this story].

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**Quest for Recuperation**

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Introduction 

30 years ago, a massive and terrible tragedy occurred all over the globe. Death rejected everyone and people were rising everywhere. Rising from the dead. There was a virus, and not just any regular kind of virus. A kind of virus that proved nearly impossible to survive, which subsequently caused the death of billions. But there were some that made it through, the survivors of the fittest.

I was the son of a single mother and was born on January 24th, 5 years after the start of the infection, in spite of all the chaos that was ensued in the town of Louisville, Kentucky. I was named Clovis Videl and shortly after, my father left us and decided that Canada was best for his own self. I could only imagine that he couldn't take care of us.

When I was almost 2 years old, my mother had found a group that was passing by; they took me in but left my bit mother to fend for herself in her dying hours. The leader of the group, Joan, had vowed to protect me and his daughter Mariette, someone that would soon prove extremely important to me.

The whole group and I ended up in Burlington, Vermont where we had no choice but to reside in the infected town as our only other method of transportation was just our feet. There had been an EMP attack on all of America a couple of years after the, my birth, which caused us to remain immobile. Why it happened I still wish to know.

Eventually, Mariette's father, also my unofficial godfather, had died in from a heart attack. He could not handle the stress and anxiety of leading a group in dangerous peril. Subsequently, Mariette's mother had committed suicide, leaving the group to be led by a 24-year-old brother of Mariette. A couple of years later, Mariette's brother had died trying to protect me from a zombie that was about to surprise attack me. Had he not jumped in front of me, I would have died… and for that I respect him deeply and I will always owe him one. Even beyond the grave.

Before I knew it, I was already 16 and the most significant part of life was to come. I had lost everyone I was ever close to, save for small friendships with the other survivors. But I had lost the closest person.

I remember one night with my old group - including Mariette - when we were fending ourselves off a surprising wave of the undead that came out of nowhere. Day after day, night after night, we fought back thinking nothing but the idea of making it through.

Early May, another group came in with a very old car. Old enough to avoid the earlier EMP attack. They helped us win the battle over the "walkers" and offered my group and me to join them in their trek to Northern Canada. It turned out that they were from Maine, avoiding some sort of human rebellion/invasion. Everyone in my group but Mariette denied the offer. I was much too attached to Burlington and couldn't leave it just like that. I had also taken full responsibility over the leadership of the group and I could not abandon them… even if it meant sacrificing Mariette.

She tried to persuade me but it did no good as I continued to deny. Mariette had told me I was the closest person to her and she couldn't afford to lose me, but in conclusion, she decided to leave me be as she perpetually and ultimately would care for her safety more. She exchanged looks of sorrow and mouthed "come back for you". She got onto the large truck; the male survivors around her looking a bit jumpy. Suspicions within me had arisen.

"If I had it my way, I'd slit your throat with the knife that you left in my back," I whispered to myself, "If you ever come back, you better fucking bow down to me, you better beg me for mercy, and you better cry me a river." But my feelings of anger were quickly overridden and replaced when I noticed a sinister smile from one of the survivors sitting in the passenger's seat. Before I could do anything, the truck was already speeding away. Chasing after by foot was nearly impossible and pointless. All I could do was realize the life-changing mistake I just made where I stood and focus all my anger, shock, and sadness into the baseball bat I was holding. The months passed by and my group of originally five, slowly turned to two, until I and another man named Albert were the only survivors in Burlington. But it wouldn't be long until I would be completely alone… alone to survive the latest horrors of mankind. And I would manage.

During my 20-year stay in Burlington, I claimed both Burlington and South Burlington. Hard as it may seem to take control of two towns, it wasn't that difficult as I _was_ the last man in both cities. At the start of the disaster, over 40,000 people left the cities to go to Canada to escape the oncoming atrocity of the undead. After the massive evacuation, there were only 10,000 people left. Those 10,000 thought they could handle the national epidemic but eventually they all "turned" from carelessness, stupidity, or starvation.

Over my "reign", I jokingly named myself King of Burlington. I unofficially had turned this small little part of America into a monarchy. There was no democracy left in America. It was lost and most politicians were dead.

In time, I had killed over 5,000 of the walking dead and the remaining "population" was killed off by other survivors that would pass through. Though rarely, I would encounter some survivors passing through that would assist me in the slightest bit. Usually, they wanted to relation with me. This had caused me to develop a liking towards being alone. Doing things, and ultimately surviving by depending completely on myself. So when there _were_ humble groups of survivors, and when they _did_ offer me to come along and make their way out of Vermont, I would decline without a second thought. I felt it was my fate to stay in Burlington and live out my life, surviving, and only leaving when I choose myself. And in a weird way, it almost seemed that way. Almost.

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Chapter One: Burlington Death Factory

The month was August, and the morning shined on through what little space the highly-secured window on my side allowed. As soon as the light invaded the previous darkness, I had awaken and quickly pulled out my HK USP Tactical .45 pistol. I had completely demolished the stairs so that if in the slight chance that a walker _had_ gotten in, they wouldn't be able to get upstairs, where I'd be safe and sound. My replacement to get up and down was a simple ladder. Climbing down carefully and relaxing after seeing that the front door untouched, I mumbled "Time for breakfast…"

I walked out the backyard door and felt the sudden change in smell, and sight. The time was 8am yet the skies were filled with massive amounts of dark clouds with little light passing through. Averagely, you could only see the sun every 15 minutes through the dark clouds.

Broccoli, Peas, and Beans were being grown in a vegetable patch about 10 feet in front of me. I had to admit it wasn't easy to learn how to plant and grow these plants… especially with limited light. On top of that, I had roosters and hens for obvious reasons. I had put a blanket over the rooster's cage, reading somewhere that it would prevent them from cooing so much to the point that it would attract walkers. The hens were for eggs so I could consume and raise more chickens.

I brought out a cook pan and started a fire with my lighter and fire wood. Placing the pan over the fire, I grabbed some of the eggs that the hen had laid and washed them thoroughly. By then, my pan was ready to cook. I cracked my egg and professionally spilled the matter inside the egg onto the pan. After some flipping around, it was ready to eat on my plate.

Picking up some broccoli, I threw some into the pan with a little water and cooked it around. When finished, I added some good sauce to eat with. I crunched down my meal in near-silence while observing the ashy clouds that were sprawling all over the sky. It was said that those dark ashy clouds were because of the world-wide, massive amounts of the dead being burned to ashes.

Everyday, getting up in the morning, I couldn't be _not _be proud of the defensive system Before my group had diminished, we had built strong concrete walls had rose 15 feet high and stood 3 feet thick around the house. There was no way through except through the ladders. It took us 3 years to complete the defensive system taking brick by brick from the nearest Home Dept, using only feet as a means of transportation. Now I ask you… how could you _not_ be proud?

After I ate my meal up, I brought myself up to kill the fire and head back into the house to grab some appropriate clothes. It was time to go hunting… for the dead. Within 15 minutes, I had my HK USP in my dominant hand, my XD-9 Springfield handgun in my holster attached to my waist, my Remington M870 Express shotgun strapped over my back, a few magazines for my two pistols in my pockets, a box of shotgun shells in my pants' back pocket, and two pipe bombs attached to the other side of my waist. These weapons, as soon as wielded, made me feel… _powerful_. And they had saved my life too many times.

I was about to go to the center of town to start my "hunting" for the day. Everyday, I would commit myself to finding at least 15 walkers to eliminate before I would I allow myself to return home. I had planned to kill every single walker in Burlington, and then build a defensive system around the town… however long that'd take. And maybe even start a colony. I had read about the old American colonies back in the early 1600s. If they could do it, so could I, except all these fuckin' walkers were my version of the plague and diseases those colonists endured.

I unlocked the front door that was heavily secured with bolts and locks. The house was virtually impenetrable so I didn't both locking the door. Hastily, I picked up the 15 foot ladder and laid it against the concrete wall. Climbing cautiously as there _could_ have been some walkers on the other side, roaming aimlessly. As I neared the peak of the wall, I bobbed my head over the wall to check if the coast was clear. It was. I sat on the top of the wall and pulled the massive ladder up and over the wall down lay it against the other side. I made more noise than I would've liked to which made me instinctively look up, gun at the ready. After listening in for about a minute, there was no response. No moan, no screech, so I slid down the ladder and placed the ladder down carefully to the ground.

Just ahead of me was an old house that I had kept my mountain bike on the porch. It was an excellent method of transportation, especially from the "runners". Most zombies were walkers, but some could run fast. It… had something to do with the genes of host in relation with the structure of the virus.

I hopped on the bike and pedaled my way towards the center of town, taking me only a couple of minutes. Call me trigger-happy, but I was extremely compelled to put a bullet through a walker's head. I took a deep breath and then screamed at the top of my lungs. I waited a few minutes, and to no surprise, I could hear a faint moan coming from the distance. Another few minutes passed and I could see 9 of them showing themselves, coming to surround me. All but one was slowly coming at me… step by step, wanting nothing but the flesh attached to my bones. Flesh that they'd do anything to get a piece of, no matter what.

The only one that wasn't walking slowly towards me was a runner. Thankfully, it wasn't the Olympic-like kind of runner so I had plenty of time to prepare myself to assimilate the bastard in one shot. And one shot was all it took me. The bullet from the trigger I pulled pierced through the air and found its way through the delicate and decayed skull of the runner. Its head jerked slightly upward right after the point of impact and it dropped lifelessly onto the ground. I smiled satisfyingly, feeling the first rush of adrenaline of the day.

One interesting characteristic between runners and walkers were that runners normally screeched and walkers normally just moaned or groaned. That was one way to tell them apart.

The distance between the walkers and I were slowly decreasing and I knew I couldn't fool around anymore. I positioned my .45 very carefully to the head of closest walker to me and squinted one eye in order to get a better aim. I pulled the trigger but the result was not what I had expected. The bullet had pierced through the scalp on the side of the walker's head, but the impact was not deep enough to do critical damage to the brain. The walker stopped for a second when hit, but continued to pace towards me, moaning like a motherfucker. I took one deep breath and tried again, squinting. As soon as I pulled the trigger, I had already I knew I got the bastard. It fell down pathetically, just like the runner I had just demised.

The next two walkers closest to me had gained some on me by taking advantage of my miss just now. They were closer than I'd like, but at least they were close enough to kill easily. Without any need for squinting or very careful positioned, I did what I was trained to do for over 17 years. Holing 'em right between the eyes. I dispatched the two closest walkers within a couple of seconds and they both met their fate. To lay face down on the ground with a bullet in their head. There were now 6 of 'em left, but it wasn't going to be 6 for long.

After waiting a few seconds for them to get closer, I dispatched another one easily. I moved to position my pistol on a target I noticed with my peripheral vision. Another one down. With only 4 of 'em left, I decided I could relax a bit and let my guard down slightly.

The center of town was a deserted and hopeless place. It had years of erosion and bloodstains across its streets. This place was forsaken by everyone – but me. I leaned against the old and moldy fountain to observe the buildings that lacked care for over 30 years. Some brick buildings were burnt black; some of them had bullet holes all over them. Bloodstains all over the walls and in between alleys. I remember the many years before, when there was a lot more people alive in town – at least compared to now – that had tried so hard to survive. And I was hiding in this waterless fountain, listening to the sound of death, gun in hand. I was shaking badly those times. Those times where I had still felt for other people and was still nervous at the site of those walkers. But over the years, I learned to cope. And I learned to fear _nothing_.

I aimed my gun at a walker closing in and pulled the trigger lazily – it dropped flat on its face. Getting tired of only shooting their heads, I locked onto my next and closest target and repeatedly pulled the trigger, throwing numerous bullets all over its torso. It jerked and twitched like it was having a seizure while still standing. The sheer force of the bullets toppled the walker onto the ground. It got back up as I expected. I released the empty clip, letting it fall, and reached in my pocket to slam a full clip into my .45 pistol. I aimed lower than usual – the walker's knees – and shot both of them. It involuntarily jerked once again and shambled onto one knee and then the other. Before I could let gravity pull the walker completely down to the ground, I shot its head, confirming the kill.

"That was fun…" I chuckled. Now there were only 2 left and it wasn't going to be hard. But suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard a loud screech and a runner had came out of nowhere to my left. This one was running at Olympic speeds. I knew I couldn't risk it so I took out my XD-9 and aimed both of my guns to the runner's blurry legs. I simultaneously shot as fast and as ferociously as I could, watching the bullets impact its legs. I saw it fall and skid and I knew I was successful. Taking no chance to leave it alone, I jogged to the now-crawling corpse and ended its misery.

I turned to finish what I came here to do and aimed one pistol to one of the two walkers, and the other pistol to the other walker, not 3 feet away from the first. The second walker had plunged just a millisecond after the first. I was now complete here and it was time to leave. I blew the smoke from my pistols and smiled as I walked towards my mountain bike.

But… in one striking second, my charismatic mood was suddenly interrupted by a roar… a roar that sent a chill up my spine. The roar that I heard many years ago. Before I knew it, my hands were searing with pain from how tight I was holding my guns.

I turned to see the SEAD only 50 feet away, making its way to me. A SEAD stood for Strong Even After Death. Walkers would eat you, bite by bite; runners did the same, just more hastily, but SEADs… these bastards would wreak havoc everywhere and rip you apart; to shreds. They were twice the size of regular zombies and were rare, meaning only 5% of all the living dead were SEADs.

SEADs usually roar or roar-screech when they see humans and this one was definitely roaring its ass off. It was walking very fast in a horrible stance – not running – but just walking very fast. It gets to you quicker than you think. A little bit intimidated, my index fingers twitched to pull and pull I did after I quickly aimed both pistols at the SEAD. Even though I was raining bullets all over its head and torso, it was still barely affected. I continued to shoot and shoot until both clips were empty. Tossing the pistols aside, I knew I had to get serious. I pulled out my shotgun that was strapped on my back and turned off the safety. It continued to walk horribly and awkwardly towards me, seemingly unaffected by the large amount of bullets it just took in. I huffed in and out in anger and intimidation. "No… no, no, no! _NO_, motherfucker. _You're_ not coming after me… _I AM!_" I yelled to it, pumping my shotgun. I started power-walking towards it, aiming my shotgun to its head. Yelling from the adrenaline and rage, I turned from a power-walk to a sprint.

As soon as I got close enough, it took a swing at me with its large arm, which I instinctively shot. The arm was deemed useless. Taking no time to stall, I pumped my shotgun right after and quickly blasted the SEAD in the torso. The power of the impact sent it flying backwards a couple of feet. I started laughing out of nowhere, maybe because it was easier than I thought.

I used to be _scared_ of this thing… but then again, who wouldn't? However, my confidence was tested once again as it got right back up again, roaring louder than ever. For a short moment, we made eye contact and it was standing there, still. I pumped my shotgun and pointed it towards the SEADs head. Jerking forward, ready to come at me in rampage, I gave no opportunity to it by blowing its head off. The SEAD was now dead… at least I hoped so. I had not killed on in more than 10 years. When it fell, the ground shook. The weight of that thing must've been over 500 pounds.

I sighed and turned around, but I heard a screech _right _before I saw a runner come jumping onto me. I only had a split second to put my hand over its neck and endure the heavy fall onto my back. Pain was nothing close to the fear I was also enduring. Why today? Why would I suddenly, out of nowhere, deal with a SEAD and now _this?_"

The runner continued to scratch me and I continued to try to push it back. With all the strength I could muster up, and with all the adrenaline rushing through my body, I managed to place my foot over its torso and kick it into the air. I pumped my shotgun, and shot it in the middle of the air _right _before it was about to drop. I sighed in relief again and got up to check the premises. Clear. I then checked my injuries. Multiple scratches.

Thankfully, there was no means of infecting people by scratching. But it was still painful like a son of a bitch. I limbed towards my mountain bike, tossing my shotgun near it. My back was not feeling well after that fall just then. I grabbed my pistols from the ground and reloaded them both. Water was all I could think about now. I was more tired and exhausted than I knew.

I sat and leaned against the fountain and gulped my water bottle down like it was tossing. I threw it when I was done and then rested for a minute. When I would get home, I would have a good meal, shower, and have a good night's rest. Maybe not go hunting tomorrow. After a while of resting and staring at the dead SEAD, I felt I was strong enough to go home. I shoved my pistols down their holsters and picked up my shotgun to strap it over my back with a long exhaling sigh when finally sitting on the bike. I checked for the coast being clear, spit as far as I could to the SEAD corpse, and then started pedaling.

My home was very, very safe. Even from a SEAD. It was pretty much a mini fortress. That thought was comforting. I guess you could say I was proud that I was going _home_ to such a haven. So now you see… when dealing with the living dead, these guns have saved my life numerous times. Too many to count, even. I would have been pieces of decayed flesh without 'em, and for that I am grateful. There was store that used to be called Burlington Coat Factory. Great place for coats, sweaters, accessories. But this town… I named it "Burlington Death Factory" because this town was a great place for death, sadness, and fear.

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A/N: Well I hope that you liked and enjoyed this chapter. I'm well under my way to start the next. **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!!** Thank you all, and the next chapter will be called **"The Imprudent and Dim-Witted"**.


	2. I'm A Savior

**The Devil of Harmony**

Chapter Two: I'm A Savior 

After my incident with the SEAD, I went home, ate some lunch, tended to my wounds, and gladly rested on my nice, soft bed. The day went by quickly, and I had slept all the way until 2 maybe 3 in the morning.

There I was on my bed listening to the faint and muffled eerie moans of the distant walkers. Occasionally I'd hear a screech which would grab me by surprise, making my heart stop for just a split second.

I continued to lie there, giving up on making myself sleep. Hands behind my head, I counted the number of screeches and moans I could hear. 2 maybe 3 minutes passed, and I counted over 50.

That wasn't right. I felt like I had to do something about it, but it was in the middle of the damn night. Going out hunting at night was very stupid – especially alone.

Another couple of minutes passed and I counted over 70. That was not right _at all_. I looked at the alarm clock and started counting yet again when the second's hand stroked the 30 second mark. 2 _more_ minutes and then I realized something really, really wrong was going on. There were over 80 moans and screeches.

In a matter of nearly 10 minutes, the moans and screeches had built up from 50 to 80. Seconds later, I distinctively heard multiple gunshots and the faint rumble of an engine – I knew what thatmeant. Shit. _Survivors _were here.

I grunted and contemplated what to do. I could stay here and let them get eaten alive, but in return have virtually no risk to me… or I could simply get up, get my weapons, and save these fools. I thought about it again and decided to let them be. I slacked myself; adjusted to a more comfortable position.

But then a few seconds later, I heard it. I heard a human scream, and I knew I couldn't just sit there and let them die, however dangerous it was out there. And I guessed _some _company after a few years would do me some good. I had myself out of my covers instantly.

Even though in my pajamas, I grabbed my USP .45 right by my alarm clock and quickly ran out my room to slide down the ladder to the 1st floor. I hastily put on my shoes, even though lacking socks, and unlocked the front door like there was a walker a few feet behind me. I threw the ladder against the wall and raced upwards and on top of the wall. I picked up the ladder and quickly threw it over the wall, not caring if it landed loudly or not. I heard more gunshots.

"HELP!" a female voice screamed distantly.

Oh, this was definitely gonna be good. I grabbed my bike leant against the wall that I had put after the SEAD incident and pedaled as fast as I could, gun in hand. The source of all the commotion was definitely on the main street.

As I pedaled faster, the gun shots could be heard louder. I couldn't wait to get involved in the action. Before I realized, I was on the main street and I could see the headlights of a vehicle not 20 feet away. The problem was I could only barely see the walkers in front of me, surrounding the vehicle. I jumped off my bike and aimed what little of an outline I could see of one of the walkers. My instincts proved successful as it dropped dead.

The gunshots coming from their end continued to go on. I carefully aimed at another one as the zombies started realizing they had more company; more dinner in their case.

_God damn it. I wish I brought my laser tactical_, I thought.

Not a hundred percent sure I'd get the kill, I still shot the walker I had aimed at. It did drop, which surprised me – but only in the slightest bit.

"Come on! Follow me!" I bellowed to the survivors I could barely see.

Several shotgun blasts went off and multiple walkers went down. The survivors jogged their way to me, covering their backs by taking down a couple behind them. I could hear their exhaustion as they were nearing in and I could see them more clearly by each step they took. There were six of them; one female by the looks of it. All ragged, dirty, and exhausted. All of them were wielding a gun or two while sporting a large backpack – their supplies – over their shoulders.

"Where to?!" One of them exasperated.

"Just follow me," I bellowed over the moans.

I turned around and noticed a couple of walkers standing in our way. It wasn't a second before I took 'em both out. I started jogging my way back towards my home, ignoring my bike. I would get that later.

"We're almost there, keep up with me!" I shouted in encouragement.

I ignored the loud huffs and gun shots coming from behind me. We were just a minute of running away to the house. I saw a runner approaching at fast speeds; I dipped a few rounds into its chest as I had no time to aim for the head. It fell on its back from the force of the bullets but it would be up quick.

Fearing for the safety of the group and me, I ran up to the rising runner I just downed, planted my left foot onto its chest and pumped a round into its head without looking. I had no time to check whether it had really been terminated but I continued to run from then on.

I took a quick turn to the left on the street then continued to run to take another quick right which was the street of my house. We were seconds from the concrete wall before I told them to climb over the ladder. I stopped in my position as they did what they were being told. Huffing immensely, I tried to calm down and scan the area for walkers. There were maybe 17 of them that followed us and they were walking quicker than normal. They sure were hungry.

"Come on," I said in between my huffs. "Come on; bring it on you all!"

One came in shooting distance and I pulled the trigger, listening to the sound of its skull being penetrated. My lips curled in satisfaction. Everyone had climbed over and now it was my turn. I hopped onto the ladder eagerly and climbed my up faster than normal. When I got to the top, there were 5 or 6 getting dangerously close to the ladder so I hastily pulled the ladder over to the safe side.

Forgetting about how I needed the ladder to climb down, I thought, _fuck it_ and made my 15-foot plunge, bending my knees to make the landing. I stood and set my eyes upon the obviously tired group that I had just saved.

"Looked like you guys were having a hard time," I mentioned.

One of the guys, presumably the leader, walked up to me and held out his hand for a shake.

"Thanks. You saved our assess back there."

I shrugged and shook his hand while looking at the group, more specifically… a girl. A very beautiful one.

"Don't mention it. There aren't too many people that pass through my town of Burlington. You attracted quite a horde there, though. Let's go in." I said, wiping my forehead from sweat.

The sounds of the moans and groans behind us seemed to keep them nervous and paranoid, but I was very calm.

They all started to enter, a couple of them looking back to the concrete wall just to make sure it would hold.

After I'd closed the door and locked the many bolts on it, I turned to the group placing all their weapons onto the carpet in the empty living room. MP30s, Glocks, Colt 45s, an M4 Carbine, a Mossberg shotgun, Springfield M190, an MP5, couple of combat knives, and even _grenades_. Though they didn't lay down _every _single weapon they had. A couple of men kept their hands closely to their side-arms. I could understand, though, that they couldn't quite yet trust the security of my "fortress".

"Jesus," I chuckled, looking in amazement at the piles of weapons. "Now I know who _not_ to mess with."

"Yeah, well. The livin' dead ain't the only thing we're fightin' off." A man with a deep groggy voice spoke, who looked to be in his mid-forties with a shabby grey beard. "Damn Canucks…" He mumbled. "Anyways, I'm Michael Kerrigan," he held out his hand for a shake, "and we're from Maine."

I shook his hand and half-assed a smile for him and the group. "Pleased to meet you, Michael. I'm Clovis Videl." I noticed Michael cursing the Canadians just now and made note to ask him about it later. "So… Maine, huh? Interesting…. What's you guys' business here?"

One person stood up, a tall man who looked fit, had sandy white hair (probably dyed) and sharp green eyes. "Excuse me, sir, my name's Jonathan. Do you by any chance happen to have some water? We're out and I'm dying of a dry throat here." His strong British accent surprised me.

"Sure," I replied. "There's some in the kitchen cabinets." I pointed to the door to the left of the living room.

"Thanks, mate." He leapt over the weapons on the living room floor and into the kitchen.

"We came to Vermont because we're fleeing," another man said who was lying on the living room carpet floor. "I'm Danny, if you care. And this is my twin bro Manny." He pointed at his brother sitting next to him. Manny held out his water bottle in a curtly salute.

Michael followed after Jonathan for water I assumed.

"Fleeing? From what, besides the undead obviously?"

Danny sat up straight and looked at me. "You didn't know? The Canadians are taking over the Northeast. They've already got most of Maine and soon enough they're gonna come here. "

I frowned in disbelief. "What about that military base in New Hampshire I heard about?"

He laughed and shook his head. "You fucking serious man? That base was overrun 8 years ago."

The frown continued to grow. "I must be horribly out of touch, then. Funny… the radio never mentioned any of this."

"That's because the radio station you're listening to probably doesn't give a shit. I'm telling you, man, the United States is no longer what it used to be. You know I even heard that Texas had combined with New Mexico, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Alabama, and Arkansas into their own nation. Rumored to be named 'The Southern Republic'.

Their leaders are definitely tough. Not only do they have to deal with the mass population of zombies in the Houston area, they have to deal with those Mexicans trying to take over, _and_ the United States Federal Alliance trying to take over their land."

Jonathan and Michael came out of the kitchen with a couple of bottle waters in hand. They threw them around to their group, each of which gulped it down like no tomorrow.

"About that, Danny." Manny said after downing his water bottle. "That's complete bullshit and you know it. I see it with my own eyes or it never happened. Those Southerners are too fuckin' dumb to be able to handle all that."

Being born in Kansas, I felt a little offended. I scoffed without thinking.

"Alright, that's enough. We'll have no more of these discussions. We gotta get up early so let's get some sleep." Michael interjected.

I frowned. So they were just gonna use me and dispose of me when I was not needed? Were they not grateful for not saving all their asses?

"Tomorrow morning? Leaving so early?" I asked.

Michael sighed, "'Fraid so. I reckon the Canadians'll get here in a week's time. We have to get as far away as possible from north."

I thought for a bit. "You _do_ know that if you head into New York…"

Michael nodded grudgingly. "I know. But it's a risk we're all willing to take."

A few of the survivors looked down to the ground in slight nervousness. They were hesitant, I could tell.

"You know the population of this town before the infection started was about 630,000. Around there. About 95% of the people fled north or elsewhere before the infection would hit Burlington, leaving about 31,500 people left in town. Then the infection hit.

Almost all of those people died; reanimated. I heard it took 15-20 years for the survivors before me to kill 31,000 zombies. But after those 31 were killed, there were still thousands of zombies left in town. It was like they came out of nowhere. It turned out that the constant amount of zombies flowing into town was coming from New York. The point of my story is to lay out to you all the gravity of the situation you're about to get yourself into. Once you cross that border the shit will hit the fan. And don't even get me started on when and if you get to Manhattan."

"You think we don't know that!" Michael flared. "You think we haven't already thought about that?! And besides, a lot of those undead could have come from Quebec. Ever thought of that?!"

I laughed mockingly at him. "All these years you've never known? Quebec was firebombed 30 years ago!"

A couple survivors looked at Michael in embarrassment; like he wasn't much a leader.

"Stay here," I prodded. "Stay here where it's safe."

"Safe?!" Michael scoffed. "You fool. You won't be saying that when they put a gun to your head and start fucking her inside out!" He pointed to the only female survivor in the room.

That's when I knew things were going too far.

"You make the Canadians sound like Nazis. In this world, there's a shit-load of rebel groups that will roam all around. It just so happens that this rebel group is from Canadian. I don't think they speak for the entire country. You know I'd rather handle 100 rebels single-handedly than 8 _million_ zombies."

Both Danny and Manny stood up. "He's right you know," Danny said. Manny nodded, "I say we stop running. We're only going to endure worse things. Like Clovis said, '8 _million_ zombies'. FUCK that! I say we make those rebels pay for what they've done."

"SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP! You're not the leader, _I_ have the final say!"

Manny, with a horrid face, was about to retort but the girl interrupted him.

"ENOUGH!" The girl stood up. "I think we should just drop this right now and discuss this another time." She looked at me and asked, "May we get some rest, if that's alright?"

I nodded.

"Come, then. I'll show you guys' room." All but one (who was cleaning his Glock) stood up. They looked eager and like they haven't enjoyed a good night's rest in a long time, but at the same time a little shaky from the argument they just witnessed. I eyed the girl really quick and made eye contact. She immediately looked away in slight annoyance.

After I climbed up, I leaned on the wall and waited. One-by-one they came up.

"Here," I showed them their way to the first guest bedroom I had. Michael went past me into his room with an emotionless face, acting as if I wasn't there.

There were only 2 beds in each room, and I had 5 rooms. That enough for them all. Some of them nodded in thanks as they passed by me and set their stuff in their room.

I looked down to see the last guy who was cleaning his Glock come up the ladder. I showed him to his room but before he would drop into bed like the rest, he gave me a random hug which I awkwardly returned.

"Thanks for saving my life, bro. I literally pissed my pants. I, uh… is the water running?"

I raised my eyebrows in awkwardness trying not to check his pants to see.

"Yeah, man. No problem. Oh, and down the hall to the left. Don't ask _how_ I got the water running, though. That's a story for another day." I chuckled slightly in my reminiscing.

He beamed a bright smile at me and shook my hand. "My name's Alex by the way. So very glad to meet you, Clovis. Oh, and don't mind Michael. He can get pretty… rough sometimes."

I returned the smile. "Same here, Alex. If you need any extra pants I've got more than enough. And I understand. I knew someone like that back in the day…."

He nodded and turned towards the bathroom. His huge backpack swung dangerously past me right after I cautiously took a step back.

A couple seconds later I looked into his room where I was surprised to see the beautiful that I just made eye contact with. She was sitting at the edge of her side of the bed, looking out the window. "Alex, your friend, is very, very… kind?" I chuckled a bit.

She looked to me and ran a hand through her short, muddy-blonde hair

She sighed, "Well maybe that's why he's my boyfriend. Unlike the others, he actually withholds decency."

I smirked back at her indirect 'back-off' she just gave me. Like a lie detector could detect lies, she must've had a 'horny' detector.

"I wonder," I leaned against the door frame and dug fingers into my pockets, "why you are the only female in this escape?"

Her eyes turned sad. "The 'rebels' took all the women for reasons I don't want to talk about."

My heart sank in a little anger and depression. I hated those kinds of people. "Is there no more civility left in this world?" I sighed.

She shook her head in disappointment. "Unfortunately, not any that I know of." She made a strong effort to cheer up. "Anyways, my name is Vanessa Cunningham, and I'm pretty glad, Clovis, that you made the effort to save us. I know that half these guys don't seem as grateful as they should be but they're… a little shallow, to say the least. I'll leave it at that."

My lips curled. I could already tell that I liked her. She was beautiful, a little witty, and more intelligent than almost all the survivors I've encountered the past decade.

"Well, Vanessa. It was nice talking to you but I'm a little sleepy. I hope you've enjoyed my hospitality."

She nodded but before I left, but stopped me with a shocking question. "Listen, uh, you won't attempt to rape me in my sleep, right?" My face kind of went, like, WHAT-THE-FUCK! The atmosphere turned awkward in split-second.

"_Hell_ no. What the…?!"

"OK, good. Just making sure." She gave me a fake smile and I knew that she probably didn't have too good experience in the past. "And, uh, I was just making stuff up when I said he was my boyfriend. You would be surprised how well that technique works, though."

I smirked and stood up straight.

"But don't think that just because I'm single, you can come up in here at 3 in the morning and try to fuck me," She pulled out her Colt 45 and smiled innocently, "I _will_ blow your dick off."

I just completely busted out laughing. Laughing so hard that my abdominals were in pain.

"What?! What's so funny?" Her face full of confusion.

"Nothing… nothing," I managed as I finally finished laughing. I rubbed my abs and smiled at her. "I look forward to that," I said sarcastically. However, I didn't _mean_ it sarcastically. I made an evil-smile, told her good night with a small chuckle and treaded towards my bedroom down to the end of the hall.

"'Night!" She returned. "Don't let the undead bite."

As I was lying in my bed in full-body comfort, when everyone was almost asleep, I thought about the rescue I did, tried to imagine it all in my head again. Thought about the argument I so quickly engaged in with Michael. He was a being a bit of an asshole and a control-freak, to be honest. And then I thought about the conversation I just had with Vanessa. Some way, somehow… I had to find a way to convince her to stay. I hadn't been feeling this affectionate for someone in over 10 years.

I petted my USP .45 slowly and drifted into sleep.


End file.
